


we could turn the world to gold

by piraete



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Love Letters, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 05:50:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13207320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piraete/pseuds/piraete
Summary: Panto Trost has never been courted before, and Silas is nothing if not a devoted lover.





	we could turn the world to gold

**Author's Note:**

> set early on in their relationship. the title is from "run away with me" by carly rae jepsen

Panto Trost had a lifetime of experience adapting to unexpected circumstances, assessing danger and all potential outcomes, and gauging what actions would aid his survival the most. However, he had yet to grow accustomed to receiving love letters.

He sat at the foot of his bed, the straw mattress deceivingly sturdy beneath the thick flannel sheets and soft brown furs. Though the moon’s grin was wide as ever through the thin panes of his window, its shimmering light clung to the walls and cast blue-black shadows, which threatened to obscure the nicks Panto aimed to sharpen out of his sword. Instead, he worked by candlelight, and diligently ran his whetstone along the silver edge of his blade until his shoulder ached with the effort. The gritting whistle of stone against steel filled the small room and quieted his thoughts, so that he worked in a state of calm focus. It wasn’t until he had paused his efforts and raised the sword for inspection that he realized the volume of his work had drowned out something else, too: the insistent tapping of a bird’s beak against his window.

Carefully, he set aside his blade and whetstone to approach the window and peer out at the little beast. The second he saw the sunny head of the wind-ruffled parakeet, his heart jumped from its previous peaceful rhythm into a state of frenzy. Panto hurriedly unhooked the latch and opened the window so the bird could flutter in; it hopped delicately onto the writing desk below.

“Hello, little friend,” Panto said affectionately. “May I see what you’ve got there?”

The parakeet complied, lifting its dainty claw for Panto to untie the green ribbon and attached roll of parchment. Eagerly, Panto set about unfurling the message, but a haughty chirp halted his efforts. He looked down at the little thing, which was tapping its clawed foot impatiently.

“Oh,” Panto said, and set aside the parchment to search his pockets, only to realize he didn’t have any form of payment. He usually kept little seeds or berries on his person to reward the dutiful messengers but, well. Litzibitz always _did_ call him a Bobo fool for a reason.

He shrugged, and presented his bare palms sheepishly. “My apologies.” With his index finger, he reached out to stroke the downy feathers just above the bird’s breast. The parakeet regarded the digit apprehensively, and almost seemed ready to accept the petting, before snapping down in retaliation with its strong, unforgiving beak.

By the time the echoes of Panto’s shriek had faded, the bird was gone, and had left only the rolled parchment and sliver of silk ribbon in its wake. He grumbled and sucked on his injured finger while he unrolled the parchment, but his annoyance melted away the second he noticed the letter’s scent: light, warm notes of sage, lavender, and just a touch of clove. It was the exact combination of scented oils he had come to associate with Silas. Resisting the urge to press the parchment against his face and inhale deeply, he began to read:

> _My dearest Panto,_
> 
> _We have only been apart these past three nights, yet my heart aches as though it were three decades. However much I try to remain in the present, my thoughts always return to how I laid my head against your chest, and how your heart kicked beneath it like a trapped hare. The memory, though precious, is but a poor substitute for your company. Tomorrow, meet me in the field of primroses where you once brought me, where we can take our evening meal together and watch the sunset. If I am honest, though, I will instead be watching your brilliant smile, compared to which even the radiant sun loses its luster. Until then, I shall count each cruel second that keeps me apart from the loveliest man in all of Wendimoor._
> 
> _Devotedly,_
> 
> _Silas Dengdamor_
> 
> _(P.S. – I did not know what kind of wine you preferred, so I bought nine different bottles. I may have over-reacted, but if you ridicule me, at least I shall be too drunk to notice.)_

Though Jeppum raised his son to be every bit as stone-faced and callous as the patriarch of the Trost family himself, Panto always privately regarded himself as a sentimental man. In the solitude of his chambers, where the eyes that watched him were not those of a people looking to their leader, but were instead those of the kind moon, he allowed himself a moment of indulgence. He held the letter close to his chest, careful not to crease the parchment, but snug enough that he could breathe in the sweet lavender smell and almost imagine it was Silas himself he held so close.

Slowly, confusion wormed its way through his haze of infatuation and yearning. As a baron prince, many men before Silas had made valiant attempts at winning his hand. Though their goal was the same, their efforts took a different form: coy attempts at flirtation and seduction, bowing before the prowess of Panto’s sword and coquettishly, loudly wondering what other _tool_ he may be skilled with. All had thought of Panto as the tall, brash swordsman he seemed to be, and all expected Panto to chase after them and claim what they assumed he wanted.

All, save for Silas Dengdamor.

Silas’s letters were littered with endearments that made Panto’s heart catch in his throat: his smile was _brilliant,_ his place in Silas’s memory was _precious,_ and to Silas, Panto was _the loveliest man in all of Wendimoor._ No man ever regarded Panto with so tender a gaze, and so considerate a thought. Silas remembered Panto’s favorite field of primroses; he remembered Panto adored the sunset; he even went so far as to purchase a plethora of wines for the sake of pleasing Panto. In all his years, no man had ever paid mind to what Panto wanted. However sweet the intention, this was uncharted territory, and years of sword practice and combat drills had taught Panto never to let your guard down on unfamiliar soil.

After reading over the letter again and again, Panto knelt beside the foot of his bed, and shoved at the wooden frame with his shoulder until the whole structure scooched to the side. Careful of splinters, he dug his fingertips into the crack of a broken floorboard, and pried it away to reveal his hidden trove of letters from Silas. Before placing the newest one amongst its brethren, he took a moment to glance over the contents of the previous letters. Though the contents were different, their elements were the same. Each letter lavished Panto with flowery compliments and warm sentiments, and every extended invitation was set to take place at a favored location of Panto’s, with promises of his favorite foods and flowers and liquors. The same words, written in a colorful, looping scrawl, ended each letter: _Devotedly, Silas Dengdamor._

Panto stashed away the newest letter before replacing the floorboard and returning his bed to its original position, covering the telltale crevice in the oak floor. Silas certainly was devoted to him—that much he was sure of. All those who came before the wealthy prince had assured Panto this same thing, yet none had acted to prove it as Silas had. This kind of attention was new, and to be the eye of Silas’s passionate storm was something that made Panto feel vulnerable, split open and revealed to his core.

Panto took a deep, centering breath. Few things took Panto Trost by surprise, but Silas Dengamor was of a new breed entirely. Not for the first time, he wondered if the other prince was using this new way of earning his affections in order to gain leverage against him. If this was the case, he wondered if he would be strong enough to resist the hold Silas had on his heart.

* * *

 

It took ages for Panto to gather an array of wildflowers rare and beautiful enough to gift to Silas. By the time he deemed his bouquet suitable and had it tucked safely into his satchel, the sun was well on its descent and would soon touch the horizon. He ran hastily toward the primrose field, and though his chest seized with affection and relief the moment his eyes fell upon Silas, he felt a similarly powerful instinct to spin on his heel and run fast in the opposite direction.

Silas was radiant, as he always was. He reclined on a soft quilt, propping himself up with an elbow as he leaned over the picnic baskets to light one of the dozens of candles he had placed. His deep blue tunic billowed in the slight breeze, and the golden flowers embroidered on it caught and held the flickering candlelight. His breeches were dark and pressed, his shoes were polished and shining, and Panto felt every bit the farmer’s son he was in comparison to the other prince. Panto had tried his best: he wore his softest green tunic and his only vest without any missing clasps, and he even applied some of Litzibitz’s peppermint oil in hopes of chasing away the farm’s musk that always stubbornly clung to him. Despite his best efforts, he knew he would never be the vision of regal propriety that Silas was, and this truth hung heavy and sour in his gut like the pit of a rotten plum.

When Silas at last spotted him, though, all of Panto’s thoughts were pushed aside to make way for the sheer intensity of his urge to run forward and kiss the grin off his face. He did, and Silas’s responding laugh was so bright, Panto could have sworn it was the chiming of bells.

“My apologies for arriving so late,” Panto breathed when they finally parted.

Silas shifted to allow Panto room enough to sit snugly beside him. “It is fine. If you had failed to show, I would have simply invited one of the _other_ handsome princes I am involved with.”

Panto sighed, long and melodramatic. “Alas! I knew it was selfish of me to try to keep a lover so beautiful and passionate all to myself. I suppose I will just take these and leave, then.” He lifted the bouquet of flowers from his satchel and made an attempt to stand.

Silas grasped his sleeve and yanked him back down. “Panto! You’ve brought these for me?” He gingerly took the flowers out of Panto’s arms and stroked a delicate petal. “Oh, they’re wonderful. They smell so lovely—the flowers from the marketplace never smell as fresh as the flowers you bring me.” He faced Panto, then, his eyes gleaming and his smile honest. “Thank you. I love them.” He placed a lingering kiss on Panto’s cheek, and before he drew away entirely, he placed another on Panto’s mouth.

Panto ducked his head to hide his burning cheeks, and gestured to Silas’s many wicker baskets. “What have you brought?”

Silas placed the bouquet in his lap and eagerly tugged one of the heavy baskets toward him. “The last time we met, you expressed a great appetite for sweets. So,” he unlatched the largest basket’s lid to unveil its bounty, “I thought we would have nothing but sweets as our supper.”

Panto gaped at the array of baked goods Silas had packed. There were fruit tarts of every kind, iced shortbread knots, honeyed cakes topped with sugared dates, thick slices of gingerbread, and jars of orange-and-fig jam to slather on warm, fresh raisin bread. His mouth watered at the sight alone, and when the powerful scents hit him all at once, he was dizzy with ardor and hunger and infatuation.

Silas fretted at Panto’s struck silence. “Oh, no. Were you hoping for something different? Forgive me, I thought—”

Panto placed his hand on Silas’s shoulder, gentle and grounding. “Silas, I am merely at a loss for words. I did not expect you to listen when I blathered on about my love of the saffron rolls Litzibitz bakes.”

“Silly man. Every word you speak is precious to me.” Silas blinked his long, dark eyelashes, and once again Panto was taken aback by the force of Silas’s unabashed honesty. “I take it this meal is to your liking, then?”

“It is, indeed. However, I believe I was promised a diverse assortment of wines, as well?”

Silas groaned, covering his face with both hands. He opened the remaining few baskets and uncovered no fewer than nine bottles of wine. At Panto’s mirthful grin, Silas frowned. “Not one word,” he warned, though it only pushed Panto to laughter. Silas selected a bottle at random, and filled two goblets to the brim with an aromatic red wine. “I was not sure what you prefer,” he murmured sheepishly as he handed a cup to Panto.

 “I do enjoy a good red wine, but it must have tired you so to carry these heavy baskets all the way here. I suppose we’ll have to drink them all to lessen the burden on your journey home.”

Silas lowered his eyes and bit his bottom lip to stave off a smile. “Would it change your opinion of me if I confessed it was Wygar who carried them?”

Panto laughed, his wine splashing over the rim of the cup as he shook with it. “My dear,” he said, meeting Silas’s deep brown eyes, “I promise it changes nothing. In the years I’ve known you, my feelings have never changed.”

Silas raised his goblet, holding Panto’s heated gaze. “A toast, then. To the only thing in either of our lives that remains constant.” The edges of their cups clinked, and the two men continued to watch each other as they indulged in one long draught of the velvety wine.

The hour that ensued was spent eating, drinking, talking, and laughing at their leisure. Delicately, Silas fed Panto bites of each confection, sitting in eager anticipation for Panto’s opinion of every dish. When Panto tried to return the favor, Silas gently pushed his hand away, insisting Panto must be the first to try it all. Panto’s cup never emptied, as Silas would have a bottle poised and ready for pouring the moment the drink left Panto’s lips. When the sun finally dropped below the trees and fields, Silas unfolded a warm fur blanket to drape around his and Panto’s shoulders, pushing them to sit even closer together and share the precious warmth. Throughout all this pampering, the same puzzlement that plagued Panto’s mind the previous night returned full-force. He felt the luxurious fur against his cheek, gripped the ornate goblet filled with expensive wine, and tasted the decadent sugar and honey that still covered his tongue. It was only when Silas plucked primroses from the ground and tied them in a crown to bestow upon Panto’s head that the prince decided it was time to voice his confusion.

“Silas,” Panto said, his voice quiet and slow. “Is all of this—are you…courting me?”

Silas affected a look of tortured despair. “Oh, drat, you’ve found out! And I had thought myself subtle with all these love letters and candlelit dinners!” He gestured to the surrounding display.

Panto grinned, and bumped Silas with his shoulder so that the other man’s act dropped with a snicker. “I’m serious,” Panto said. “Why are you courting me?”

Silas’s look of bemusement seemed genuine. “What do you mean? How else am I supposed to win your favor?”

“Oh, I can think of a few ways,” Panto teased, placing his fingers on Silas’s knee and tickling his way up high on Silas’s thigh. Silas’s laugh was surprised and delighted, and instead of batting away Panto’s wandering hand, he caught it with his own and intertwined their fingers. His emerald signet ring was cool against Panto’s knuckle, and Panto raised it to his lips to give it a warming kiss.

“My dear, if you do not enjoy the way I choose to show my affections, I would alter it in whatever way pleases you,” Silas said earnestly.

“No! Do not alter anything. I am simply unacquainted with this…manner, of winning someone’s affections.” With his thumbnail, he scratched at a spot of tarnish on his cup. “Usually, I am expected to be an aggressive suitor who claims lovers without hesitation. No man but you has treated me this tenderly.”

At this, Silas chuckled, and Panto’s head snapped up quizzically. “Forgive me,” Silas snickered. “The thought of you as an assertive, fierce man is too much for me to bear. Just the other day, I watched as you carried a mother cat and her litter of kittens for miles in order to place them in your barn and save them from the rain.”

“They looked so cold,” Panto protested weakly.

“They did, and you made sure they have shelter where they will never feel cold again. Darling, did you ever stop to consider that I am kind to you because you are deserving of kindness?”

Panto blinked. “Ah. No. In all truthfulness, I thought this may be your way of getting me into your bed.”

“And it’s worked several times in that respect, yes?” Silas teased, smacking Panto’s hip none too lightly with the back of his hand. When the two finished snickering, Silas peered at him with an intense focus, his eyebrows drawn low. “Panto, I have no intention of treating you the same way the rest of my family does. You are not a barbarian swordsman, and you are not a lewd scoundrel. You possess an endless wealth of affection and generosity which I have never before seen in any other man.” He raised up both of their hands, still intertwined. “If we did not see each other as we are, instead of as we appear to be, then we would be no better than either of our parents.”

Panto nodded, his chest stuffed too full and tight for any words to fit through. Though Silas always knew the correct words to say, Panto was one to favor action. He tossed his goblet aside and cupped Silas’s cheek with his newly freed hand, surging forward to kiss him senseless. Silas responded in kind, knocking over his own cup and spilling the contents of a basket in his eagerness to get his hands on Panto and pull him to the ground. Where Silas pulled, Panto went, just as he always did wherever Silas chose to lead him.

The wine splashed red over the field and stained the delicate primroses. Panto found he didn’t mind; he had a new reason to call this field his favorite.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! this was a christmas gift to my wonderful friend karin, who was kind enough to beta this fic and who can be found on tumblr [@lesbianlitzibitztrost](http://lesbianlitzibitztrost.tumblr.com/). you can talk to me on tumblr [@phantomsteed](http://phantomsteed.tumblr.com/)!


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